His Lost Daughter
by Morgan Sulfur
Summary: The third and last part to the 'His Lost Child' trilogy. After Valkyrie is pulled into the other dimension, she is caught in a endless war. But Valkyrie holds the secret to their deaths in one fragile mind and one little ring. (Don't HAVE to have read the other ones-it just helps)
1. 15 years

**This is a lot different than I usually do, it's definitely darker than any of my other stories and will have mature themes.**

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><p>15 years, 7 months and 13 days. Most people would have forgotten that time existed. But she couldn't. She knew exactly how long she'd been in hell. She could only hope that time in this dimension ran faster than the dimension she had had once called home. She prayed that was true, her partner wouldn't leave her here for that long. If she was wrong it meant that he'd given up on looking for her. When she was truly sad she wondered if he had already found a new partner, did he even still remember she was here?<p>

Her world was now filled with pain, both mental and physical. Has was everyone else's. Their screams of annoy and fear bleed trough the walls at night. Her screams had joined them when she had first arrived, but like everyone else who had given into despair and had given up hope of ever being rescued, she fell silent. As new humans were caught and locked up she wondered how long they'd last before they, also, fell silent. But they still had nightmares and the screaming would start again.

Prisoner No.907 had gotten used to their screams a long time ago.

907's dangling feet barely touched the cold, stone-brick floor. Chains that were attached to the ceiling were keeping 907 in a standing position, at first the chains had just been coated with other people's dried blood. But her blood had soon joined it. She had found it uncomfortable in the beginning to sleep standing up but she had soon adapted.

She had a small window in her cell but there was no point trying to escape trough it because 907 was on 29th floor and the window was to small anyway. Red light was shining through the window and hitting the cold, unyielding bars, making them sparkle. 907 would have found the deep red sky beautiful had she not been viewing it from her chained position in the middle of the room.

She was waiting for them now. The Leera. They always came to take 907 out of her chains as the red sun rises. It had become a signal to her that it was time for more training with the other prisoners. It had taken 907 a long time to gain the others trust; she had appeared out of nowhere after all. Everyone was afraid to show weakness here and in their eyes kindness is a weakness. It also wasn't wise to get to know other prisoners because they could die or be sent off to fight at anytime. It just isn't worth it.

This dimension is at war. When the Leer and the Leera had been banished to this dimension by 907's ancestor, she hadn't sent them to an unpopulated world. The Leer and the Leera had quickly gained power over the humans. But when they had started fighting between themselves for resources, the war began. The Leera turned against the Leer. Both sides started imprisoning humans and training them to be their soldiers. The Leera and the Leer never fought in their own war, the human prisoners were taught to do it for them. The Leera that had slipped through the portal the first time hadn't been trying to open the portal again so more Leera could come out. He was opening it so humans could go in. The Leera are losing and need more soldiers, and when the Leera found himself in a world filled with millions of humans he saw an opportunity. 7 billion humans would win him the war.

907 had been at a disadvantage to most of the other prisoners. They had been training since the age of 8 but 907 had only started training at 12. It wasn't a massive disadvantage, she was still better than some when she first started. Hours and hours of training and harsh punishments when she failed had forced her to catch up. Soon 907 was one of the best. She was trained to use knives, swords and her magic. New skills she never knew she had were discovered. New weapons were suddenly open to her. Her bow was still her choice of weapon, in the other dimension she hadn't been amazing with a bow, but after years of training…she couldn't miss. Old skills, such as her necromancy, she'd had to hide. If the Leera knew she could use that kind of magic she'd have been killed a long time again. Her ring was close though, hidden. 907 didn't mind, she had so many new powers such as creating ice and being able to influence nature, and she still practiced necromancy secretly.

907 loved the new strength and power she had. But there was a cost. Scars covered most of her body. They were visible because she wore very little clothes. A white, long sleeved t-shirt that left her stomach and ribs visible and small black shorts. Her hair had grown a lot in the years she had been here; it was now kept in a long plait that was clipped to one side of her shirt so it couldn't be pulled on the Saturdays' fighting match. It was all against all, winner stayed on. No matter if you were deathly ill or had a serious injury, you fought in the arena. 907 had gotten many injuries from the fight. Deep cuts, internal bleeding, concussions and cracked bones. The leera have a medical room but they don't do much. If you get seriously injured, it's up to you to fix yourself. 907 still had all the scars from the times in the beginning of her imprisonment when she had lost. Long scars marred her back and legs, her wrists are permanently bruised from the chains that held her. If she had been back home Doctor Nye would have been able to get rid of the scars no problem. But 907 wasn't at home.


	2. El dolor de toque

**I told you it was different- darker, than my other stuff. don't say I didn't warn you!**

**Morgan Sulfur xXx**

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><p>907 was woken by screams. She cautiously opened her eyes. No one was around. But the screaming continued. 907's hands wrapped themselves around the chains. Slowly and silently she pulled her body weight up and forward so that her feet were higher than her hands. She placed her bloody feet on either side of the chains and lifted her hands slightly, now that there was no longer any pressure from the chains around her wrist, she could remove her hands. She hung limply upside down for a few minutes listening to the continued screaming. The risk of leaving your cell, as always, was high. Many soldiers do it even though the Leera know. That's why it so easy to leave your cell- they want to catch you. Plus they know that there is no way to leave the actual building.<p>

907 suddenly let go with her feet and landed on her hands, quickly, she flipped herself over. 907 ran to the corner of her cell and took out the lose brick that was hiding a small metal devise. She placed it on the lock of her cell and it sprang to life. Soon the door was unlocked.

Steeping out into the long, stone corridor was an ire experience. It was cold and the light overhead flicked on and off. It's not somewhere you'd want to hang around in.

907 reached the cell where the screaming resonated from. Inside was a girl around 907's age. She was curled in a tight ball, shaking and crying in the corner. Occasionally her hand would fly out and try to fend off an imaginary attacker. 907 once again placed to metal device on the side of the lock and a few seconds later it was unlocked.

At the sound of 907's entrance the girl looked round. The screaming stopped but she continued to cry and shake. "Are you here to save me?" she whispered hoarsely. This was standard procedure. Every time 907 comes in she is always asked the same question.

"There is nothing to save you from this time Annabeth." 907 replied, crouching down in front of her. The desire to lay a comforting hand on her arm hit her, but she knew better than to touch Annabeth now.

907 looked at the cloths Annabeth was wearing, different from hers of course, but that's because she's not a solider. She's just a prisoner. Hence why she has a name and not a number.

Most humans who do not display a natural gift for combat are usually left alone, unless they can be useful in some other way, in the few reaming villages a couple hundred miles from here.

When Annabeth was five the Leera raided to village, they found her. Annabeth, like 907, is a threat to both the leer and the Leera, or she was before her mind was broken. She has the power to enhance other people's power on a massive scale.

907 had been helping her to develop her powers for about a year before Annabeth went insane. And now she wasn't even back to square one. Annabeth rarely knew who she was most days, let alone know that she had the power to stop all of this.

"You're ok, Annabeth, he's not here." 907 quietly reassured her.

"Where is he? Where has the bad man gone?" She whimpered.

"I killed him, Remember?"

"Hurt me."

"Yes he did."

"You tried to stop him, when he was touching me." Annabeth said, clearly starting to recall the events.

"I know. But I found him later"

"YOU WERE SEEN!" Annabeth suddenly screamed. Her eyes were alight with fury. But 907 knew that it wasn't directed at her, but at another solder who betrayed 907.

"I know, I know. She told them that I killed him."

"Your hand." Tears streamed down Annabeth's cheeks as she remembered what her friends punishment was for killing the man who had broken her.

907 smiled sadly. "You don't have to feel bad about that, and besides, I've made do." She spared a glance at the robotic hand that rested on her leg.

"They hurt you." She stated.

"They've hurt us both." 907 countered. "But where're going to stop them one day. Have you tried getting in touch with your magic like I suggested?"

"Magic?" Annabeth asked looking bewildered and lost.

907 sighed. "Never mind. Are you going to be ok if I leave now?"

Annabeth nodded slowly. "Yes, bad man is dead."

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><p><strong>Originally it was a lot darker, but this isn't rated high enough. I hope it's OK. <strong>

**I was thinking about actually writing about 907's hand being cut off in the next chapter, but I don't know, too graphic? **

**Morgan Sulfur xXx**


	3. THE RETURN

**I've been away, lots happened and by the time it was over i'd lost interest in writing. But I'm back and there will be regular updates coming now. thank to those who commented; asking when the next chapter is going to be published. it's because of you that I've got renewed motivation. My other story will also be updated soon. **

"Do you remember the day they took your hand?" Annabeth asked her. They were still sitting on the floor of Annabeths cell.

907 looked over at her. "Yeah, I remember…the pain mostly. But that's not something you forget. But I also remember what happened after they took my hand. I met him." She ran her flesh fingers over the metal ones and marvelled once again at their delicacy and flawless design. Her mind went back, almost without permission to the day they took her hand and the chance meeting that followed.

2 years ago:

907 woke with the familiar feeling of grogginess. It was the result of being drugged. Her memory was cloudy, when had she been drugged, her food maybe? A devastating realisation dawned on her. They knew. She hadn't been as careful as she first thought. They knew what she'd done. And now she was going to suffer for it.

She took in her surroundings. Grey walls with a blood splatter pattern on the wall, it smelled damp and of purified vomit. She was strapped to a gurney. Her right hand was brought forward, over the arm of the chair, while her left hand rested comfortably on the arm rest. Mental rings around her forearms and ankles kept her still. Turning her head slowly she observed the small table beside her. Primitive medical equipment was laid out in a row, blood from previous patients still coating the blades.

"NO! no, no, no!" she screamed and fought against her bonds. They couldn't, they mustn't. her muscles screamed in protest but she didn't stop.

The leera entered the room. Its blood red eyes sparkled with glee over the situation. Here to avenge the death of one of its own. It had been 4 days since 907 had killed a leera. She thought that no one had seen her, that she had left no evidence of her treachery. Obviously she had been wrong.

_It was worth it, so worth it._ She chanted over and over in her head. To kill the Leera who put his hands on Annabeth, was worth everything they were going to do to her. To slit his throat and watch him bleed out, for him to look her in the eye and know why this was happening to him, was worth it.

The leera reached her side of the bed and picked up the scalpel. _No, no. _907 struggled, it was no use and she knew that, but there was no way she was just going to sit there quietly. The Leera turned towards her and moved her scalpel armed hand down towards her wrist. 907 turned her head. The pain was a biting, burning, fiery hell. The pain went on forever. After an eon the procedure was done, and the hand that had killed a Leera was gone. They left her. No longer strapped to the gurney but unable to move.

The pain was excruciating. She used to think that the worst thing she would ever feel was the pain of Serpine's right hand, she was wrong. So very wrong. That pain, while terrible, was comforting. It brought the promise of an end. It promised death. This pain was different. This pain promised agony, a pain that would never end and consume you from the inside out.

oo)0(oo

There was no recovery after that. She was in no position to fight. Over the following months the other soldiers wiped the floor with her during the Saturday night fights. The pain made her mind fuzzy and she couldn't concentrate on the fight. It was only because of their quiet respect for her for killing one of their oppressors that they didn't kill her outright. But they hadn't shied away from the fight either. Her hearing in her right ear was permanently damaged from a well-aimed fist. It was taking its toll. She knew that soon the Leera would not put up with her poor performance for much longer, her time was running out, her usefulness was coming to an end.

"Are you going to get up?"

There was someone in her cell. Last night the Leera had not even bothered to chain her up. There was no point. She was too weak. She lay on the hard stone floor as light from the red sun filled the room. She didn't even bother to raise her head and acknowledge the voice. It hadn't come from a Leera and therefore was of no consequence to her.

"Do you know why they took your hand?" the same male voice said, undeterred by her silence. "To see what you're made of. Can you overcome this massive disadvantage and not only draw level with your peers, but surpass them?"

907 finally raised her head to look at the voice.

"Who are you?" 907 asked.

This man intrigued her; he was muscular but not overly so. He was ruggedly handsome in a weathered way that showed he had been trough much in his life; scars peppered his arms, which were currently crossed against his chest. But it was his eyes, yes the cobalt blue was striking, but it was the emotion. The raw emotion behind those eyes caught her undivided attention. Compassion. So different from anything she'd seen in the last 15 years that she almost didn't recognise it anymore. But there was something about him that was off. The colours he was wearing.

"And what ranking are you?" 907 continued, observing his red t-shirt.

"While I was here, my number was 943, I go by Marshall now. And technically I don't have a rank anymore; I'm a red-shirt which means I'm retired. I choose to be here."

"Impossible, soldiers can't retire." 907 stated.

"Blue shirts like yourself can't. You know the hierarchy? Blue shirts then white shirts then black shirts. White shirts are specially selected and trained for covert operations, Intel and infiltration of the enemy. Blue shirts, like you, are foot soldiers."

She nodded to show that she knew this.

"You're expendable, replaceable. There are hundreds of you. You fight till you die, which will probably be soon. But black shirts, that's what I used to be. Blue shirts that show amazing hand-to-hand combat ability, amongst other qualities like possessing magic, are also especially trained. After serving for 200 years, you can retire. Or train the next black shirts. But we don't get to choose them, the leera do that for us if they see something special in a blue shirt."

"I doubt they see anything special in me."

Marshall tilted his head. "Haven't you been listening?" he sounded annoyed. "You're a blue shirt, you're replaceable. So when you killed that Leera, why didn't they kill you and replace you, huh? No, instead they took your hand as a test, a chance to show them how strong you are."

907 laughed bitterly. "They want me to be a black shirt, sure, sounds fun. But there is no coming back from this." She held up her wrist.

"And that's where I come in. How would you like to have a weapon that could topple armies and empires? How would you like to be the strongest solider to ever advance to black shirt?"

"Hell yes."

_A few weeks later:_

"So, are you going to tell me your name?" Marshall asked her while he sterilised his hands.

"Why does it matter?"

"I'm about to perform an incredibly risky operation on you, might be nice to know your name first."

"Do this right and I'll tell you my name."

"Fine, are you ready?" he asked concerned.

907 observed him for a moment before answering. Beauty was not something that 907 thought could be found in this place. But if anything in this world was beautiful, it was him. Perhaps it was that he was the first person to show compassion to her, or perhaps it was just him. It had taken time for 907 to trust Marshall, to believe that his offer of help was not a trick. But as the weeks went by and the pain intensified, she had little choice but put her full faith in him.

907 nodded. "Do It"

Her saviour brought the knife down in one swift movement, and 907 screamed.

Marshall inspected the wound and nodded. "Okay, the wound has been reopened. Just sit back."

Panting quickly she laid back and allowed Marshall to strap her to the filthy gurney, this time she was there by choice. The scab on the end of her wrist had to have been reopened for this to work. It exposed the bone, muscle, ligaments and tendons.

Marshall worked quickly and fluidly, never pausing and hesitating, as he attached metal counterparts for the complicated structure of her hand. It took hours but it was worth the time and pain for the end result.

It was beautiful. Gold metal was painstakingly shaped into the delicate curves of fingers, clogs and wheels were in place to allow fluid movement. The hand was simple yet complicated with so many parts and components, and yet each part complimented the rest. It reminded 907 of an expensive, vintage clock. 907 moved her new hand experimentally. The mechanisms were silent as they obeyed her request.

She looked at Marshall. "Valkyrie."

"Hmm, what?" He had been admiring his handy work also.

"My name was Valkyrie."

"It's beautiful."

"It's worthless. Just like I was before this." She held up her knew hand. "Thank you."

"It's still healing; soon you won't know the difference, apart from the cosmetics. At a later date we can add more weapons and tools but right now you've got a concentrated Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation beam."

"A L.A.S.E.R beam?"

"Sounds so much better when you call it a concentrated Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation beam, by hey, suck the fun out of life" He smiled.

"Why did you do this for me?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"It's because you killed that Leera. This is my way of thanking you"

"He deserved to die."

"Yes he did, but he was dead anyway, long before you got your hands on him. Weather it was you or me who killed him doesn't matter. He was dead the moment he laid hands on Annabeth. You just saved me the trouble." Marshall explained in a tight voice.

"You were going to kill him, because of Annabeth, why?"

"Annabeth is my sister. Being a black shirt I was able to place her under my protection; no one was supposed to touch her. But I retired and he got brave. He stepped out of line."

"I had no idea."

He shrugged. "You've got a couple days of rest until Saturday, and then show them what you've got. They'll make you a black shirt. I'm going to put in a request to be your mentor when that happens."

"Fine, but you've got a lot to live up to. My last mentor was amazing."

**Thank you for reading, your support means so much.**


	4. Gone Dark

"Are you ready for this?" Marshall asked her.

"I'm always ready." Now a black shirt, she wore a tight black cat suit, with boots that went up to her knees and cloves that went up to her elbows. She had several knives strapped to her thighs and fore-arms and her bow on her back. She pulled her hood up and strapped her full face mask to the back of her neck. Is was a tiny black square that was coded to recognise her brain signature. If she wanted the mask on it would unfold, it was equipped with a gas mask, night vision, heat sensors and tracking systems in the eyes. She looked badass.

It's been two years since 907's hand was removed and Marshall had come into her life. They had been training everyday in order to be the best. She had achieved black status and was considered to be one of the best operatives there had ever been. Her metal hand had been improved, adding in a lock picking device, explosives and a shield generator. She was an expert in most forms of martial arts and had trained to a level where she believes she could beat her old trainers; Skulduggery Pleasant and Tanith Low.

As a black shirt, 907 had taken a more active role in the war. Taking on more solo missions which involve kidnappings, hostage rescue and assassinations. In the beginning it had been too hard for 907 to commit such heinous crimes; it was the thought of her family, her parents and her little sister that prevented her from doing what needed to be done. How could she kill with their faces in her mind? So she forgot them, she forgot her parents and her sister, her life at school and her friends. The first real memory she has is when she was 12 when she met skulduggery Pleasant, everything about him and their time together running around as detectives, she remembers. But anything that makes her soft and unwilling to do what's necessary was put out of her mind.

907 gripped the two knives in each hand. She reached up and jabbed the knife into the mortar between the two bricks on the wall, with the other hand she repeated the gesture higher up. Putting one hand higher than the other each time, she steadily climbed up the wall of the large compound that hopefully held the answers to questions.

"Valkyrie, are you receiving me?" Marshall's voice came over her intercom in her ear.

"I'm here Marshall, I can hear you."

"This is risky, are you sure you want to be doing this. It's not too late you can stick to the original plan."

"No, I need to do this. It could be the answer to my way home."

"Is been close to 20 years Valkyrie, they probably think you're dead and have moved on. You should move on too."

"With you?"

"Yeah."

"We can talk about this again, but right now I've got a job to do."

Reaching the top of the wall she climbed onto the roof. Gently removing some of the panels that had already been previously loosened for this purpose, she climbed into the whole supporting by her arms on either side and gently let herself drop. She made no sound as her feet it the floor and she creped along towards the attic door. Usually, this building is unimportant, however for the next few hours it was home to one of the Leer's main recruiting personnel whom they believed was selling secrets to the opposition. 907 had volunteered to track him down and kill him.

She stopped outside the attic door and quietly listened. She didn't hear movement on the top floor of the building and so she quietly descended the stairs. The sounds of plates and cups being banged together reached her ears, it sounded as though he was helping himself to the stocked kitchen. She quietly moved through the house. And there he was, slicing up bread and meats at the small wooden table in the kitchen.

She walked into the kitchen, no longer trying to be subtle. The man looked up from his plate of food and looked down again as if he was bored by her presence. "You want some?" He asked her.

"I'm fine." She replied unconcerned.

"So why are you here? I know I owe you a favour letting me know that I was wrongfully suspected of selling secrets to the other side, for getting me out of there and the setting up this safe house, I just didn't think you were going to collect on it so soon." He continued eating.

"It was selfish of me really, I just needed a good reason to get into this house."

"I don't understand."

"Well you see, this house was once occupied by very powerful sorcerer, said to be the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, but only a few people know that. To most people, like the Leers and the Lera's , this is just an old abandoned house that I have no reason to be in. So I needed to make a reason need to be here so that I could have a look around. Tracking down the traitor who was taking refuge here was the easiest."

His face grew angry and he stood up aggressively. "You set me up! You framed me! And you told me to come here!"

"Correct."

"And now you're going to kill me."

She shook her head "No, you're already dead."

He frowned "What?"

"I'm glad you like the food."

...

907 was distinctly disappointed with the house, as far as she could tell there were no signs of secret rooms or in fact anything secret at all. It was almost time to give up, as she would be expected back with the traitor's body very soon and she couldn't risk anybody being sent to look for her.

She almost missed it. It was a very cluttered room after all, but perhaps that was the point, with so many things to look at be distracted by it was quite possible that the symbol on the far wall of the room would be missed. Walking over to it the symbol starts to become clearer, someone like China sorrows would have understood it immediately however 907 had only been learning different symbols for a few months. It took a moment but she recognised it as the symbol for sorcerer. Back in her old world it was used in public places as it can only be activated by sorcerer which meant that mortals would be in no danger of accidentally stumbling across something magical. In this world however, sorcerer's were so rare that they preferred to keep their secrets between each other and was a way of making sure that anybody who wasn't a sorcerer couldn't get access to it.

907 took off her glove and placed her palm on the symbol, sensing her magic the symbol glowed gold for a moment and then went back to the dark faded colour it was before. When she removed her hand, a panel on the wall became noticeable. Removing the panel she found a small book, it was in perfect condition unlike everything else in this house, obviously magically spelled to remain so. It was as 907 hoped, small leather bound purple grimoire, supposedly written by the most powerful sorcerer to have ever lived and left here when he was chased out thousands and thousands of years ago.

"Marshall, I found it. My way home."


End file.
